


Thy Home is High in Heaven

by Ael



Series: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Gen, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:02:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael/pseuds/Ael
Summary: The rescue mission to Vulcan turns sour mere minutes after the Enterprise leaves Spacedock. With the fate of the Federation hanging in the balance, the crew of the Enterprise must stop Nero before it is too late.A retelling of Star Trek 2009, in a world where Mutants and Carriers serve in Starfleet.





	1. Rescue

"Red Alert. All cadets, report to Shuttle Hangar One for immediate assignment."

 

The announcement comes in the middle of classes, the day after the Kobayashi Maru test. Kirk frowns up at the loudspeaker, wondering if this is a drill. Nothing like this has ever happened before.

 

But given that all the instructors and his fellow cadets are already on their feet and heading out, he supposes it doesn't truly matter. He grabs his shoulder bag and follows, joining the massive stream of people heading for the closest shuttlecraft hangar.

 

"Jim!"

 

"Bones!" Kirk has rarely been happier to see his friend. "Do you know what this is about?"

 

McCoy's gills flutter in agitation. "Not a clue. Whatever's going on, it's big. They're packing up practically all the medical supplies Starfleet owns."

 

That's concerning news, but Kirk can't help the thrill of excitement that races through him. They're officially getting to see some action, and what kind of situation would require bringing every single cadet along? Looking ahead, the constant parade of mutants, carriers, and aliens is coming to a tidy halt in regimented rows, separating into groups based on department. McCoy frowns, and gives Kirk's arm a squeeze before joining the medical group.

 

Kirk falls in line with his fellow command cadets, another body in a sea of red, and he idly wonders if he and Bones will luck out and be assigned to the same ship. His thoughts are interrupted the moment he notices Captain Pike staring at him, and Kirk straightens his spine slightly. _Nothing to see here, sir._

 

Pike's gaze holds for several long moments before he nods to the crewman at his side, who steps forward. "Listen up, cadets!" she shouts to the command group. "Each of you will be assigned a post on one of the ships currently in Spacedock. Remember your post when your name is called.  We're only going over this once." True to her word, she wastes no time, launching into the longest list of names and ships that Kirk has ever heard in his life.

 

He almost misses it when his own name comes up. "Kirk, James T. _USS Enterprise_ , tactical."

 

Kirk doesn't even try to hide the grin that spreads across his face. The _Enterprise_! Fuck _yeah_! From the moment he saw her under construction in Riverside Shipyards, he'd known that this day would come. And being assigned to tactical... Not quite what he had always envisioned, but hey, small steps, right?

 

Aaaand Pike's looking at him again. Well. Kirk won't apologize for being elated over his assigned post, no matter what the old captain thinks of it.

 

The rest of the names pass in a blur, and before he knows it, he's standing at the doorway of the shuttle that's going to take him up to that beautiful creature in the stars. He's doubly pleased to see McCoy sitting in one of the jumpseats, head in his hands, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "Bones!"

 

The doctor is visibly relieved to see him. "Oh thank Christ. If I have to go up in that hell, at least I'm dragging you with me."

 

Kirk laughs and drops into the seat next to him. "Like I'd let you go up there without me. We're on the _Enterprise_! I've been waiting for this moment for three years." He leans into McCoy and lowers his voice to a stage whisper. "Don't suppose they told you what's going on."

 

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Of course not. No one's had time."

 

"I heard it's a distress call from Vulcan," a familiar voice says from the other side of the shuttle, and Kirk turns to see Uhura of all people is talking to them. She seems pissed about _something_ , but for once it doesn't seem to have anything to do with Jim Kirk. Or at least he's not as high a priority as whatever's gotten her upset this time.

 

The shuttle takes off, heading straight for Earth's orbital Spacedock. For once in his life, McCoy doesn't bitch about having the window seat, and Kirk leans so far over to look too that he's practically sitting in his friend's lap. "So that's what she looks like all grown up," Kirk murmurs, as the sweeping lines of the _USS Enterprise_ come into view. She's even more beautiful than he thought she'd be, and his heart aches as his gaze sweeps her from stem to stern. It's love at first sight.

 

Aboard the ship is a whirlwind of activity, not the least of which is the quartermaster waiting in the shuttlebay with packages for all the cadets. It's pretty obvious from the colors in each one that they're duty uniforms. Temporary, maybe, but _God_ it feels good to hold that package of gold shirts in his hands and know that they're _his_.

 

"What rank did they give you?" McCoy asks, already shucking off his red cadet jacket and pulling the blue science tunic over his head. The collar catches on his gills and he growls under his breath, forced to carefully flatten them enough to finish dressing.

 

"Lieutenant," Kirk says, finding the stripe on the sleeve of his own shirt. "You?"

 

"Lieutenant Commander," McCoy answers. "That means I outrank you, if you weren't paying attention."

 

"Damn, pulling rank already," Kirk says with a grin. "Never change, Bones." With both of them changed into their duty uniforms, he gives McCoy a friendly slap on the back as they part ways. "Better get down to Medical. See you soon, I hope."

 

"Where are you going to be?" McCoy asks as Kirk starts confidently striding towards the turbolift.

 

Kirk spins around, walking backward for a moment as he flashes a grin. "The bridge, Bones! Where else?"

 

"God help us," McCoy mutters, but he can't quite hide his smile as he makes his way through the crowd toward Sickbay.

 

The activity on the _Enterprise_ reminds Kirk of a hive of bees he watched once in Iowa. Swarming madly, bees going here and there, but with purpose and weaving complex patterns around each other to synergize, not hinder each other. He finds himself becoming part of the swarm as he makes his way through the corridors to the turbolift, and just barely manages to squeeze in before the door shuts.

 

There's a Vulcan inside the lift, looking at him stoically. His rank stripes identify him as a commander, and it's pretty obvious who this guy is. Not a lot of Vulcans serving in Starfleet, after all. Not among humans anyway. Kirk nods politely. "Commander Spock."

 

The Vulcan's eyes flick down to Kirk's rank stripes before answering. "Lieutenant Vel-Kirk, I recall."

 

Well of _course_ the Vulcan would break out the honorifics. "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you."

 

"Indeed." He says it in such a precise way that Kirk can't tell if it's agreement or skepticism. Exactly as Spock planned, he's sure. So much for small talk.

 

Not that there's much time, anyway. The turbolift doors whoosh open, and they step out onto the bright, shiny bridge of the _Enterprise_. State of the art computer stations line her walls, most already manned by crewmen, and Kirk realizes with a start that he doesn't know if any of them are cadets either or not. Probably many of them, if Starfleet had to rope his entire class into this operation. The tactical station waits for him on the starboard side of the bridge, and he has to pass the captain's chair to get there.

 

Kirk can't quite resist lifting a hand to run it across the back of the chair as he passes by. It's colder to the touch than he expected, sitting like a throne at the back of the starship's bridge, although it looks damn comfy. _Someday, baby. You'll be mine._

 

"Would you two like to be alone?" Pike's voice appears at his ear, and Kirk jumps a little, dropping his hand from the chair.

 

"Sorry, Captain," he answers with a cheeky grin, not sorry at all.

 

At the very least, Pike's mood seems to have improved since the shuttles left Earth. "Get to your station, Kirk," he says, looking very captainy in his command golds, three silver stripes weighing down the ends of his sleeves. It's the first time Kirk's seen him out of dress grays, and it's a bit weird if he thinks too hard about it.

 

But damn, son, there's a mission at hand. Get on it already.

 

Kirk takes a seat at the tactical station and runs through his prelaunch checklist, making sure everything is calibrated and reading correctly. As expected, the ship responds like a dream, shiny new and ready to roar out there into the black. Behind him, Spock reports on the readiness of the vessel. _Must be the first officer,_ Kirk realizes, as he hasn't seen any other commanders on the bridge.

 

Pike does a circuit of the bridge, looking over his people's shoulders to visually verify the ship's readiness. "Ladies and gentlemen, the maiden voyage of our newest flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today. The christening will just have to be our reward for a safe return. Carry on."

 

Kirk can't help a silent chuckle at the thought of taking time out from the crisis to hurl a bottle of champagne at the hull, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Pike looking at him. Again. Damn his empathy. Kirk summons up what he hopes is an appropriate feeling of embarrassed apology and projects it in Pike's direction, or at least that's what he tries to do.

 

There's an odd nervous, excited tension in the air, and Pike's attention is drawn back to the navigation station. "Ensign Tsel-Chekov, rein it in please."

 

"Oh, sorry keptin," the young navigator answers, and with each syllable of that soft Russian accent, the unnatural tension ratchets down until it's almost unnoticeable. "It's all wery exciting."

 

 _Projectional empathy,_ Kirk recognizes. A good complement to Pike's flavor of empathy, but a potential liability risk on the bridge. The kid's scores must be spectacular if they're letting him up on the bridge with that kind of control.

 

Released from her moorings, the _Enterprise_ turns with the small rescue fleet and falls into formation, ready for warp. Kirk's heart is practically beating out of his chest at the sight of the _Farragut_ and the _Hood_ disappearing, flung into the depths of space before his very eyes, and knows that they're next.

 

Or... they should be. At Pike's command, the ship goes precisely nowhere, and everyone turns to stare at the helmsman, who introduces himself as Hikaru Sulu. Kirk vaguely recognizes him from a piloting class they both took last year, but the guy didn't really stand out in any way that Kirk recalls.

 

"Is the parking brake on?" Pike asks, sounding a little annoyed by the delay, but with the patience of a teacher who realizes he's dealing with some very nervous and excited students who are on their first real mission ever. God bless Starfleet's finest.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk sees Spock cock his head as if listening to something that only he can hear. "Have you disengaged the external inertial dampeners?"

 

Wow, what a rookie mistake. But Kirk isn't going to laugh because God only knows what _he_ is going to fuck up on this trip. Instead he chooses to watch and grin as the stars on the forward viewscreen turn into wibbly lines, and disappear into the glowing blue halo of the ship's warp bubble.

 

It's not the first time he's seen it. But it's the first time from the bridge of a starship, and it's never going to get old.

 

"Ensign, begin shipwide mission broadcast," Pike orders once they're safely at maximum warp.

 

There's not much to do at warp, so all Kirk can do is run a second diagnostic of the tactical station just for kicks while he listens to Chekov's announcement. Might as well give his hands something to do in the meantime.

 

"May I have your attention please. At twenty-two hundred hours, telemetry detected an anomaly in the Neutral Zone, what appeared to be a lightning storm in space."

 

Those words send a horrible shock through Kirk, and every iota of enjoyment he'd been having about this mission get sucked right out the airlock as he spins to face the ensign, who continues his broadcast without noticing.

 

"Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from the Wulcan High Command that their planet was experiencing seismic actiwity. Our mission is to assess the condition of Wulcan and assist in ewacuations if necessary."

 

Kirk doesn't hear the rest of it as his mind races. Oh shit. A lightning storm in space? There's only one reference to that phenomenon that he knows, and the last time it happened, the _USS Kelvin_ and George Kirk got blown into itty-bitty pieces.

 

He doesn't even realize that he's stood up until Pike's voice cuts through his thoughts. "Lieutenant, something you'd care to share with the class?" There's no trace of amusement in the captain's voice though. In fact, he looks faintly alarmed at the horror and suspicion that's surely bombarding him as they speak.

 

"Sir," Kirk says, finally finding his voice, "permission to test a theory?"

 

"You just got here, Kirk," Pike says with a frown, extremely concerned at the condition of his tactical officer.

 

"Yes sir, I know." He's not sure he can articulate just how serious this might be without backup. "But if my suspicions are correct, sir, this is way worse than we think."


	2. Trap

The bridge is nearly silent enough to hear a pin drop, and Pike stares hard at Kirk. "Fine. You have five minutes. Go."

 

Others on the bridge look aghast. The captain is letting the tactical officer run off just after launch, minutes from dropping out of warp. It's unheard of. But Kirk doesn't need or wait for their approval. He bolts from his seat towards the turbolift. "Computer, locate Cadet Uhura!" he commands.

 

"Lieutenant Uhura is in the communications lab," the computer answers calmly.

 

As Kirk vanishes into the lift, Spock's eyebrow practically rockets into his hairline. He can't imagine why the cadet would need to find Nyota, nor why she would be of any help to whatever bizarre theory has him upsetting the captain.

 

Belowdecks, Uhura looks resplendent in her communications reds, but for once Kirk doesn't give any attention to how good she looks in the miniskirt. "Uhura!" he calls out as he approaches.

 

Her smile is rapidly replaced by shock, then suspicion. "What do you want?" she asks, before noticing that his semi-permanent leer is completely gone. This is a side of Kirk that she's never seen before, not even during the Kobayashi Maru test.

 

"That transmission you intercepted from the Klingon prison planet," Kirk says, jumping straight to business. There is no time to mince words. "Who was responsible? Was the ship Romulan?"

 

"Romulan?" she repeats, swinging back to shock again. "Yes. Why does it matter?" She reaches out to touch his arm, concerned that he's gone even paler somehow. "Are you-"

 

"There's no time," he says. "Come with me, quick. I need you to back me up." Then he turns and bolts back toward the turbolift, not even checking to see if she's following.

 

For a brief moment, she's incredibly annoyed with his arrogance. Like she should just stop what she's doing and go with him, just because he asked? He doesn't even outrank her. But... he looked like something had spooked him, and he's never, ever looked at her like that before.

 

Before she knows she's doing it, she's chasing after him, throwing a quick apology over her shoulder to her stunned fellows in the lab.

 

Uhura is a little surprised when the lift opens on the bridge, and Kirk strides out before her, straight up to the captain's chair. "Captain Pike, we need to stop the ship."

 

 _Stop the ship? What on Earth is going on?_ Uhura wonders, stepping out of the lift. Across the bridge, Spock is looking at her, one eyebrow raised, and all she can do is shrug in reply.

 

"Vulcan is not experiencing a natural disaster," Kirk proclaims, his voice at once confident and deadly serious, the complete polar opposite of his arrogant handling of the Academy's strictest test of performance. "It's being attacked by Romulans."

 

"Romulans?" Pike repeats, eyes narrowed. "And how do you know this?" Kirk is radiating a terrifying mix of certainty and horror, and the empath can hardly ignore it.

 

"I too would be interested to hear the facts behind your conclusion," Spock adds, standing up from his station. His hands are clasped behind his back, and though few on the bridge are familiar enough with Vulcan body language and expression to see any difference, Uhura can tell that he's tense, worried about his home planet's fate.

 

Kirk doesn't have the luxury of feeling pleased that they're listening to him, without simply kicking him off the bridge. Right now it doesn't matter one iota whether he's a mutant or a carrier, just that he has the facts. "That same anomaly, the lightning storm in space that was reported near Vulcan today, also occurred on the day of my birth, when the _USS Kelvin_ was attacked and destroyed by one Romulan ship." He locks eyes with Pike. "I read your dissertation, sir. You know that as well as I do."

 

Pike nods once, tersely. "Go on."

 

"That ship was never seen or heard from again. The _Kelvin_ was attacked on the edge of Klingon space, and at twenty-three hundred hours last night, forty-seven Klingon warbirds were wiped out by one massive Romulan ship on the edge of their own territory."

 

"How do you know of this?" Spock inquires.

 

Kirk turns to look at Uhura, and finally she understands why her presence was necessary. Her heart sinks in her chest as she realizes that Kirk's bizarre, off-the-wall theory could be horrifyingly real. "Sir, I intercepted and translated the message myself," she says, directing her comments towards the captain, the one man that _must_ be convinced of the truth before it's too late. "Kirk's report is accurate."

 

To those who know how to read him, Spock looks surprised and gratified. "The lieutenant's logic is sound," he agrees. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolinguistics. We would be wise to accept her conclusion."

 

Pike turns to the communications officer on bridge duty. "Lieutenant, are you picking up any transmissions in Romulan originating near Vulcan?"

 

The officer shakes his head. "I don't know if I can distinguish between Romulan and Vulcan, sir," he says. "I've never studied Romulan in depth."

 

Pike looks surprised and disappointed by the answer. His bridge officers are supposed to be the best of the best, and this mutant had come highly recommended for his ability to absorb languages in the span of only a few hours. But they don't have a few hours for him to learn, and Pike quickly turns back towards Uhura. "What about you, lieutenant?"

 

"Uhura, sir. I'm fluent in all three dialects," she says, her heart racing as she realizes that her studies and hard work have somehow put her, a carrier, ahead in the xenolinguistics game against even linguistically-gifted mutants.

 

Pike doesn't hesitate. "Relieve the lieutenant," he orders her.

 

"Yes, sir." Her first voyage, and she's already taking a place on the bridge, on a ship that she had to _insist_ on being assigned to. It's almost beyond belief, but she doesn't have time to reflect on it. She slides into the vacated seat and quickly sweeps all channels. "Sir, I'm not picking up _any_ transmissions of any kind. Not even distress calls."

 

"Hail the _USS Truman_ ," Pike commands. He's coming to the same ugly conclusion that Kirk leapt headfirst into five minutes ago, and the implications are staggering. "Shields up. Red alert."

 

Uhura gives it her best shot, and frowns. "Captain, the _Truman_ initially responded to our hail, but now everything's gone silent. The rest of the fleet has dropped out of warp. Something must be jamming transmission at the source."

 

"Kirk, get to your post," Pike orders. "Arm all phaser banks and load the torpedo bays."

 

For once, Kirk is eager to follow orders, and not out of excitement. "Aye, sir," he says, throwing himself back into his assigned seat, hands flying across the board to ready the ship for combat. It's something that they've all drilled for countless times, but this is for real. There is no retaking this test. The untried cadets will either succeed, or everyone will die.

 

"Arriving at Vulcan in five seconds," Sulu reports. Next to him, Chekov has to struggle to keep his horrified anticipation to himself instead of blanketing the entire bridge with it.

 

Five seconds later, they drop into a nightmare.

 

Huge chunks of debris float violently across the viewscreen, spinning and crashing into each other, bouncing in random directions. A massive chunk of a saucer section slowly cartwheels past, and a chance spin reveals the blackened words _USS Farra_ -, the rest of the ship's name cut off by a photon torpedo blast that ripped a hole clean through the hull.

 

"Emergency evasive!" Pike orders immediately, and Sulu jumps to comply, diving the _Enterprise_ at a right angle to their entry vector, rolling the ship to avoid decapitating her on the remains of the _USS Hood_. Half of a warp nacelle scrapes against the _Enterprise_ 's belly plates and bounces off into space, tumbling end over end.

 

Somewhere in the debris field, there are red and blue flashes that show that someone is still fighting, then a bolt of green and a massive bloom of orange as something explodes. It's too big to be anything other than one of the Federation's starships, and there's a collective gasp from the inhabitants of the bridge.

 

Through the cloud of starship parts, and bodies of their crews, a massive black shape looms in orbit over Vulcan. Kirk feels a chill go down his spine as he recognizes the ship from the sensor data recorded from the _USS Kelvin_ 's surviving shuttles. "God, I hate being right," he says out loud. The long eldritch fingers of the Romulan ship stretch out toward Vulcan as if to tear its heart out, and there's a strange orange beam linking the ship and the planet. Pike is barking out orders behind him, but all Kirk can see is the ship that has now murdered thousands of innocent people.

 

The ship that killed George Kirk.

 

"Kirk!" Pike snaps, his voice breaking into Kirk's thoughts. "Prepare to target their incoming torpedoes!"

 

He responds on automatic, and a part of him wonders if this is what it was like on the bridge of the _Kelvin_ , twenty-five years ago. George Kirk, too, shot down the Romulan torpedoes until his final breath, allowing as many people as possible to reach safety. Now, two and a half decades later, his son sits on the _USS Enterprise_ and steels himself for battle.

 

The Romulan ship does not move to pursue the _Enterprise_. It doesn't have to. Strange green torpedoes steer around the debris field, locking onto Starfleet's flagship and homing in with deadly accuracy. Kirk targets each one as quickly as he can, shooting them down, but he's only human. The ship shudders and reels as a pair of torpedoes find their mark, slamming into her shields.

 

"Shields are at thirty-two percent," Sulu reports in alarm. "We can't take another hit like that."

 

"Get me Starfleet Command," Pike shouts to Uhura. "We've got to get the word out."

 

"I can't sir," Uhura says, frustrated, though she still tries repeatedly to establish contact. "They're still jamming us."

 

"Captain," Spock reports quickly, his Vulcan stoicism at odds with the urgency of the situation. "The Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high energy pulse device into the Vulcan atmosphere. Its signal appears to be blocking our transporter, as well as our ability to broadcast communications."

 

Something seems wrong, and Kirk can't put his finger on what exactly it is until he realizes what's missing. "They've stopped firing, sir."

 

Uhura straightens, her dark eyes widening in surprise. "Captain, we're being hailed."


	3. Jump

Kirk is aware that he should have his eyes glued to the tactical station, watching for any incoming attacks. But he can't tear his gaze away from the tattooed face of the Romulan on the viewscreen, glaring coldly at the bridge crew of the _Enterprise_. "Hello," he says with a sneer.

 

The only time anyone has ever seen a Romulan in person was twenty-five years ago, in the footage salvaged from the _USS Kelvin_. At the time, shockwaves had rippled across the Federation at the knowledge that humanity's long-time enemy looked identical to their oldest extraterrestrial friends. Now, as then, there is no time to question why. Survival is at stake.

 

Captain Pike has faced countless aliens in his time, both peaceful and hostile. He reclines slightly in his chair, looking every inch the starship captain that he is, calm and collected in the face of such overwhelming odds. It's an oddly inspiring sight to see. "I'm Captain Tsel-Christopher Pike," he says coolly. "To whom am I speaking?"

 

"My name is Nero," the Romulan responds. He sounds almost bored, like the captain isn't worthy of his full attention. And though the image is not quite to scale, he seems to be looking around the bridge for someone else.

 

"You've declared war against the Federation," Pike begins, drawing on his years of experience and knowledge to present the most dignified, militarily competent image that he can muster. "Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."

 

Nero scoffs with contempt. "I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart. As does your Vulcan crew member. Isn't that right, _Spock_?" he says, dark satisfaction seeping into his gravelly voice as he finds his target.

 

Almost involuntarily, everyone on the bridge turns to look at the first officer. Even Kirk can't resist, wondering why this Romulan would single out the commander for personal attention. Is this why they stopped attacking? It can't be an unwillingness to fight their distant cousins, given that the Romulans are also viciously attacking the surface of Vulcan itself.

 

Spock stands and steps forward. "Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted," he says with all the urgency and alarm of someone accidentally bumping into a stranger in the grocery store.

 

"No, we're not," Nero says, but he sounds pleased nonetheless, and that _can't_ be a good sign. "Not yet. Spock, there's something I'd like you to see," he continues, but rather than elaborate, he turns back to the captain. "Captain Pike, your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice. You will man a shuttle and come aboard the _Narada_ for negotiations. That is all." And before anyone can reply or shout an objection, the channel closes, the viewscreen displaying the horrific debris field that was once six Federation starships.

 

Kirk is the first on his feet, lurching toward the command chair. "Sir, you can't. That's what they did to Captain Robau, twenty-five years ago. He'll kill you too."

 

Spock, too, comes to a stop at Kirk's shoulder. "Your survival is unlikely," he agrees.

 

Pike closes his eyes for a moment and puts his hand to his forehead, trying to shut out the overwhelming fear and concern from his crew. Much as he appreciates the sentiment, he can't afford the distraction right now. He needs to come up with a plan, _fast_. Something that will at least allow his crew to survive, and perhaps buy them enough time to save the planet as well. Whatever Nero intends, it cannot be good.

 

He opens his eyes and looks around at his bridge crew, many of them untested and untried cadets, looking back at him with fear in their eyes and hearts. "We're not giving up without a fight. Spock, Kirk, you're with me. Does anyone have advanced hand-to-hand combat training?" he asks the bridge at large.

 

Sulu's hand shoots up before he's even finished speaking. "I do, sir," he says firmly, without hesitation.

 

Pike just nods. "Walk with me," he orders them, striding for the turbolift. "Uhura, call replacements to the bridge for tactical and helm, and have Chief Engineer Olson meet us in the shuttle bay with three demolition packs. Chekov, you have the conn for the moment."

 

Kirk doesn't have a clue what the captain is thinking, but he doesn't hesitate to follow. Side by side with Spock and Sulu, the three of them trail behind Pike in an unconscious formation, cutting through the crowded corridors on the way to the shuttle bay.

 

"First order of business is getting the transporter up and running," Pike says to the three of them as they enter engineering. "Lieutenants Kirk, Sulu, and Chief Engineer Olson will space-jump from the shuttle as we pass by that scrambling machine that's messing with our gear. You'll get inside, disable or destroy it, then beam back to the ship. Commander Spock, I'm leaving you in charge of the _Enterprise_ in my absence. Once communications are back up, contact Starfleet and report what the hell's going on here. If all else fails, fall back and rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system."

 

None of the men interrupt him to ask any questions while the captain's giving orders. The path ahead is clear as it can be. And at the very least, it's some kind of plan. Pike stops at the door of the final turbolift that will take them down to the shuttle bay, and turns to face his entourage. "Kirk, with Spock in the captain's chair, Olson is Acting First Officer, so I'm promoting you to third in command in his place."

 

Spock raises an eyebrow, but does not object. Even he can see the logic in it. It was Kirk's intuitive insight that allowed the _Enterprise_ to prepare for the true situation in the skies above Vulcan, and thus far he has shown an acceptable command of resources available to him, despite any personal feelings the Vulcan may have about the cadet's performance in the Kobayashi Maru simulation.

 

Kirk wishes he had the luxury to be excited about his field promotion. Instead, he can only focus on one thing. "Sir, after we knock out the drill, what happens to you?"

 

Pike shrugs, putting on his best stoic expression, glad that the only one here who could call him out on his nervousness is too emotionally repressed himself to do so. "I guess you'll have to come and get me. I expect to find my ship all in one piece," he adds to Spock. "She's brand new. Treat her well." He nods to Kirk and Sulu, and the three of them step into the lift, leaving Spock to make his way back to the bridge and its waiting command chair.

 

If Kirk thought the ship was a swarm of bees earlier, now it's pure chaos. Crewmen run to and fro, prepping a shuttle for launch as quickly as is humanly possible. One telekinetic in engineering reds lifts the shuttle into launch position, while a small team in science blues quickly run the launch checklists. A few equipment cases and two armored orbital skydiving suits wait just inside the shuttle, and a man wearing Lieutenant Commander's stripes is already halfway through changing into his own hardsuit.

 

"Olson," Pike greets the man as he slides into the pilot's seat, giving the controls a quick once-over. "You have the charges?"

 

"Yes, sir," the chief engineer replies, literally glowing with pent-up energy and excitement. "One pack for each man, three phaser rifles and Lieutenant Sulu's special."

 

Kirk doesn't hesitate to grab his own hardsuit and begins clamping on the plated armor over his uniform with the ease of long practice. At his side, Sulu does the same. "Your special?" Kirk asks him, running a quick diagnostic to make sure the seals are all air-tight.

 

Sulu just nods. "Collapsible sword. I've had six years training in fencing."

 

"Nice," Kirk says, attaching his phaser rifle to the clamps at the small of his back, and his demolition pack just above it. "Is that your power? Fancy sword skills?" He's seen it before, and it's always impressive to watch mutants with enhanced reflexes and speed showing off their abilities in such a showy manner.

 

Sulu's face is carefully blank as he replies. "No, actually my powers are in botany."

 

Son of a bitch. He's not kidding. Kirk just stares at him for a moment, wondering why the hell someone with super plant powers got a job as a _helmsman on a starship_ , but then there's no time to ask questions because the shuttle door hisses shut and Pike takes off, maneuvering the craft between the opening bay doors and into the blackness of space.

 

Out the front viewport, Vulcan stretches out below them, red and orange swirling together beneath hazy wisps of cloud. The black ship _Narada_ looms above it like a vulture waiting for its prey to collapse and die, blotting out some of the light from Las'hark, the Vulcan sun. Kirk slams on his helmet, automatically checking the neck seal without thinking about it. He feels like he's done this a thousand times, but this is the first time he's jumping into _combat_ , adding a deeper level of excitement and nervousness to an already thrilling prospect.

 

"Gentlemen," Pike calls back to them, his voice muffled but understandable through the padding of their helmets. "We're approaching the drop zone. You have only one shot at this. They may have anti-air defenses, so wait to pull your chutes until the last safe moment. And remember, the _Enterprise_ can't beam you back until the drill is disabled. Clear?"

 

"Clear, sir!" the three men chorus in unison, and Kirk flashes a thumbs-up.

 

The force-field between the pilot's seat and the rear of the shuttle snaps to life, protecting Pike against the expected loss of atmosphere. The floor hatch opens just long enough for all three officers to leap out of the shuttle in motion, one after another, plummeting headfirst toward the planet far below.


	4. Sabotage

The fall, as always, begins silently except for the sound of his own breath.

 

This high up, it's often difficult to visually judge how fast you're plummeting planetward, but this time Kirk has a handy indicator in the form of a massive chain-like structure stretching down toward the surface, drawing closer as forward momentum moves the three skydivers closer and closer to intercept. Spikes on the structure whip past him as he falls, moving his arms and legs to compensate for drift as he's been taught, aligning himself with the target zone on top of the drill.

 

And slowly, the sounds of the Vulcan atmosphere begin to rush past his helmet, first only whispers of wind, escalating into a roar.

 

He watches his readouts carefully, unable to spare a glance for his fellow officers, having to trust that they're following their own training. And at two thousand meters to go, he hits the parachute release, decelerating into a glide in a matter of seconds. A flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye assures him that Sulu has done the same, but a glowing mass of red plummets between them as Olson continues to fall.

 

"Olson, pull your chute!" Kirk calls over the short-range comms. If he gets in trouble for addressing a senior officer so casually, then so be it.

 

There's no reply from the engineer, he simply glows brighter from absorbed atmospheric friction, adding to his power. Kirk can't see any signs of panic in the man's body language, nor can he see any sign of malfunction. "Olson!" he tries again.

 

Finally, the red parachute unfurls... but far too late. The moment it catches the thin Vulcan air fully, Olson swings past the edge of the platform, circling around underneath. There's no time for him to gain control, and the next thing Kirk sees is an almighty red explosion from underneath the drill as Olson detonates violently, the power of the blast enhanced by his mutation.

 

"Oh my god," Kirk hears Sulu say, but there's no time to mourn, either. The drill is reeling from the blast, but the cutting beam continues unhindered, swinging enough that the steady tunnel it was boring becomes a wide zigzag on the surface of Vulcan, immolating the desert far below.

 

It takes every inch of concentration that Kirk has to land on the swinging platform, and he rolls on impact, trying to move with the drill instead of being bucked off it. He hits the chest button to retract his chute and reaches out to grab something, anything, to stop him from falling off the edge. His armored glove catches on part of the drill and he holds on for dear life, determined not to end up like Olson.

 

Above him, Sulu's chute twists around itself and loses lift, sending him on a collision course for the moving drill platform. There's no time to think. He glances down, judges the distance and momentum, and hits the control to release the chute entirely.

 

He drops the remaining six meters, tucking and rolling the moment he impacts the drill. The surface is neither stable nor smooth, and there's an uncomfortable crack from his ribs as he rolls across the platform. The drill's swing reverses, and he nearly rolls right off the edge before he feels a hand grab his ankle, steadying him.

 

Kirk hangs onto Sulu until the drill's movement is gentle enough for them both to stand. But before they can begin attaching the explosive charges to the drill, a hatch opens, and two slightly dizzy-looking Romulans emerge. "Oh shit," Kirk says on reflex as the aliens draw their weapons. Beside him, Sulu's sword is already unfolding into its deadlier form as the helmsman leaps at the closest Romulan, locking blades with the man.

 

Kirk draws his phaser rifle and aims it at the second Romulan, but when he pulls the trigger, nothing happens. With no time to figure out what's broken, he has no choice but to use it to parry the Romulan's attacks, blocking the sword from reaching him in a manner no phaser rifle was ever designed for.

 

He changes his grip on the weapon and swings it like a club, striking the Romulan on the side of the head. The enemy alien roars in pain, and his blade flashes out, bouncing off the armored plating on Kirk's chest. Pressing his attack, Kirk goes in for the kill, but this time the Romulan is ready and ducks, slamming his body into Kirk's knees and flipping him facefirst onto the platform. There's a sick crack as his faceplate caves in, clouding his view and causing all his readouts to vanish.

 

No time! Kirk rolls to the side just as the Romulan's blade comes down, missing him by inches. He wrenches off his helmet and throws it at the man, disorienting him just long enough for Kirk to lunge to his feet and push the bastard off-balance. The Romulan stumbles backward, and suddenly his feet find only empty air.

 

There's a harsh scream, and the alien disappears from sight, his cry rapidly fading into the distance as he falls towards Vulcan's surface.

 

Kirk turns to help Sulu, only to see that his assistance isn't needed. A body lies slumped at the helmsman's feet, and bright green blood stains Sulu's blade. Quickly, Sulu wipes the blade on the dead Romulan's shirt and folds it away, hooking it back onto his belt. "You all right?"

 

"Fine," Kirk says curtly, ready to get the hell off this drill before more Romulans show up. Without his helmet, the thin air is making him a bit lightheaded anyway. Best to be quick. "Let's set the charges and go home."

 

"No argument from me," Sulu agrees, and picks his way across to the opposite side of the drill.

 

Kirk examines the base of the chainlike structure for the best point to place his own demolition pack, and finds an important-looking cluster of high-energy cables. "This looks important," he says to himself, wedging the charges into the space and setting the detonation timer for ten seconds. "Ready?" he calls.

 

"Ready," Sulu confirms. Together, they set their timers to count down and leap from the edge of the drill, as far out as they can possibly manage. Neither of them want to share Olson's fate.

 

Kirk activates his parachute the moment he deems himself to be far enough away from the drill, and to his left he can see Sulu's puffy white reserve chute deploy a decent distance out. There's a loud kaboom from overhead, and the threatening orange energy beam sputters and vanishes. Moments later, the massive drill platform plunges past the two skydivers, mangled and twisted from the blast.

 

He wants to whoop out loud, but can't spare the air to manage it. Instead, Kirk simply pumps one fist in the air in triumph.

 

His celebration is cut short at the sight of some kind of large projectile falling past them, stabilizing fins directing it precisely into the center of the vertical tunnel drilled into the surface of Vulcan. It vanishes into the planet's crust, and a moment later, some kind of shockwave bursts outward from the hole. Kirk goes straight for his wrist-mounted communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_! They just launched something at the planet, through the hole they just drilled."

 

" _Acknowledged_ ," the reply comes instantly, confirming at least that communications are back up. " _Are you ready for beam-out?_ "

 

Kirk glances over at Sulu, two hundred meters away, and sees the helmsman flash him a thumbs-up as they slowly drift down towards the planet. "Affirmative, _Enterprise_. Get us out of here."

 

" _Stand by._ "

 

There's a long, uncomfortable moment where nothing at all happens. Kirk's grip on his chute controls tightens, ready to make a landing on the planet if necessary. But then the familiar white haze swirls around him, and he shuts his eyes for a moment in relief.

 

When he opens them again, it's with solid deckplates under his boots, blessedly thick air filling his lungs, and with Sulu at his side. Almost in unison, they retract their parachutes and step off the transporter platform.

 

The doors hiss open and Spock strides through, moving urgently and with purpose. He nods once at seeing Kirk and Sulu standing there, safe and sound. "I am beaming down to the surface," he says, kneeling on the transporter pad for greater stability. "Energize," he commands the technician, and she obeys at once, before Kirk can even ask why.

 

Kirk leans over the transporter console and flips the comm switch. "Kirk to bridge, what's going on?"

 

He recognizes Chekov's soft, sad voice filtering through the speaker. " _The Romulan ship is creating a singularity within the planet that will destroy Wulcan entirely._ "

 

"Destroy it?" Holy _shit_. The idea that the Romulans have enough power to implode a planet is a horrifying one. Their training didn't even remotely cover this kind of scenario. "Does Spock know? We need to get him back up here now."

 

" _He knows, sir. He is ewacuating the Wulcan High Council personally._ "

 

Kirk curses and turns to the transporter technician. "Can we start beaming up people on the surface? Anyone we can reach, _anyone_. The ship can hold more."

 

The tech shakes her head, and Kirk wishes he'd had the time to learn her name. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no time. We have to keep the pads clear for Captain Spock and his party."

 

"No time? How fast is this going to-"

 

Kirk's objections are interrupted by a hasty message from Spock, and the technician immediately jumps to beam up the small group of refugees. All six pads flare to life with white light, but one fizzles out, and Spock appears on the adjacent pad, his arm stretched out as if to grab someone who isn't there. Kirk isn't familiar with Vulcan facial expressions, but it doesn't take an expert to see the devastated look on his face. Even one of the older Vulcans in the group looks shaken and disturbed.

 

Unseen, below the orbit of the _USS Enterprise_ , the surface of Vulcan heaves and collapses in on itself, tearing the planet apart.

 

And in the transporter room of the Federation flagship, every Vulcan staggers to feel the horrifying loss of billions of their kin, collapsing in psychic agony.


	5. Command

"Spock!" Kirk leaps forward to stop the acting captain's head from cracking against the floor as he falls. The Vulcan doesn't react, his face frozen, staring into nothing. "Call for a medical team!" Kirk snaps at the transporter tech, unconsciously emulating every order he's ever heard. He's never been in an official command position before, but it's like slipping into a second skin, taking Pike's captainly mantle upon his shoulders.

 

And it's a shock when he suddenly realizes that with Pike gone, Olson dead, and Spock incapacitated, _James Tiberius Kirk_ is actually the acting captain. _Holy fucking shit, I'm the captain._

 

Kirk eases Spock to the ground and lunges for the comm on the transporter console again. "Kirk to bridge. Situation report!" he demands.

 

" _Ze_ Enterprise _is now orbiting a black hole,_ " Chekov's voice answers, sounding stunned. " _Ze_ Narada _has vwarped away. It is no longer on scanners._ "

 

Kirk can't stop a very unprofessional curse from passing his lips. "Calculate his trajectory and lay in a pursuit course. Uhura, transmit a full report to Starfleet Command. We need rescue ships out here to pick up any survivors as soon as possible."

 

" _Why isn't Captain Spock giving the order?_ " Uhura's voice asks, and though she tries to hide it, it's pretty obvious that she's worried.

 

"He's safe but he's out cold," Kirk answers, and some of his tension bleeds away as he hears the doors whoosh open behind him, heralding the arrival of the medical team. "All the Vulcans collapsed when the planet went."

 

Sulu leans over Kirk's shoulder to talk into the audio input, wincing as it pulls at his broken ribs. "Captain Pike made Kirk third in command before he shuttled over to the _Narada_. He's acting captain now."

 

"You've got to be kidding me," McCoy's hoarse voice says from behind him, and Kirk glances over his shoulder to see the doctor looking more frazzled than ever, his science blues burnt and smeared with various shades of blood, his gills raw and red from lack of hydration. The doctor scowls up at him for a moment before returning to scanning the nearest Vulcan. " _You're_ in command?"

 

"Thanks for the support," Kirk answers, unable to restrain the sarcasm. He turns back to the comm. "I'm on my way to the bridge. Summon all department heads that can be spared for a pow-wow. Kirk out." He looks over at Sulu. "You'd better report to Sickbay and get checked out."

 

"I can keep going, sir," Sulu protests.

 

"I know, but you'll keep going better if you at least get your ribs taped up first," Kirk points out, and Sulu looks suitably embarrassed that the new acting captain had noticed his injuries. Or, more likely, that he'd managed to get himself injured enough in the first place, as if there wasn't a fantastic reason for it. "I've got bumps and bruises and that's it. You won't miss the meeting, promise."

 

"Aye, sir," the helmsman agrees reluctantly.

 

"I'll be up in a few minutes, Jim," McCoy says, somewhat distracted as he focuses on his patients.

 

Kirk turns, a little puzzled by that apparent non-sequitor. "What for?"

 

"You wanted all the department heads," McCoy says, all business and no-nonsense. "Doctor Puri died when the damn Romulans shot out deck six, so I'm Chief Medical Officer now."

 

"Damn." Congratulations just don't seem right when you only got your promotion because your superior died. He considers that for a moment. "You realize this all means I outrank _you_ now, right?"

 

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Shut up, _captain_. Come on, lieutenant," he adds to Sulu. "Let's get this over with."

 

Sulu looks like he can't decide if he should laugh or not. "Aye, sir."

 

Kirk makes a brief stop by the quartermaster to drop off his orbital jump gear, then heads up to the bridge. The sight that greets him is a sobering one. The debris field is a bit better dispersed now, and where once there was a desert stretching out far below them on the planet's surface, now there is simply a void. If not for ship's telemetry marking the black hole that was once an ancient and noble world, only the wrecked Federation starships would indicate anything was there at all.

 

"How many made it off-world?" he asks before he can stop himself.

 

"There are hundreds of pre-recorded distress signals from escape pods and personal craft," Uhura reports, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Lifesigns indicate probably a few thousand. That's all."

 

A few thousand out of six billion. In one crushing, devastating blow, Nero has nearly wiped out the Vulcan race entirely. It's a staggering thought.

 

"Are their orbits stable enough to wait for rescue?" Kirk asks, and as he does, he realizes that he doesn't remember sitting down in the command chair. And yet here he is, fitting into it as if it was made for him alone.

 

"Most of them, yes," Chekov answers. "Not all."

 

Kirk closes his eyes for a moment and nods. "Get some telekinetics together to boost the tractor beam. We can take a few minutes to stabilize what we can, then we go after Nero."

 

A few minutes are what it takes for McCoy to finish in Sickbay, turning over his patients to what remains of the medical staff. Sulu accompanies him to the bridge, along with a very shaken Spock.

 

"You should be resting," Kirk says, reflexively standing up when he sees the Vulcan set foot on the bridge.

 

"We cannot afford the time," Spock replies quietly, his emotional control shattered at the deaths of his people. "Nero must be stopped before he destroys again, and you require all the resources at your disposal to be available, captain."

 

The use of the rank gives him pause. "You don't want to take command?"

 

"I cannot. Starfleet regulation six-one-nine forbids an emotionally compromised commander from leadership positions." The fact that a Vulcan is admitting to being emotionally compromised would be downright shocking, if not for the events of the last hour. Now, everyone on the bridge has nothing but sympathy for Spock and what remains of his race. Alien or not, the Vulcans were Earth's oldest friends. Spock takes in a breath. "With your permission, I will continue in the capacity of First Officer for the time being."

 

How can he say no? "Permission granted, Spock. I'll take whatever you can give me."

 

"Thank you, captain."

 

The turbolift doors whoosh open once more to admit Lieutenant Commander Scott, looking nearly as frazzled as McCoy. "Chief Engineer reporting," he says, and it's hard to tell if he's pleased or pissed off by that new title. "Is this gonna be quick? There's a load of damage to isolate and fix if ye're planning to take the _Enterprise_ into combat again."

 

"Quick enough," Kirk promises him, and turns to address the bridge at large. "There's no time for a formal debriefing, so this will have to do. I need to know what you know. Anything relevant to the situation at hand, anything that might help us understand what Nero wants and how to stop him, or how to survive our next encounter with him. What's the damage report?" he asks, turning again towards Scott.

 

"Shields took a real pounding in the initial assault. Decks five through eight are breached but force fields are holding," Scott answers promptly, one hand on a nearby console as he absorbs knowledge of the damage directly from the ship. "If ye plan to take us into battle, we need at least an hour to regenerate our shields and make sure we aren't about to spring any leaks."

 

"You don't have an hour, probably," Kirk says apologetically. "Get on it, Scotty."

 

Scott does a double-take at the nickname, but doesn't protest. "Aye, that's what I was trying ta do in the first place," he grumbles, stepping back into the turbolift.

 

Kirk turns towards McCoy, and after a moment's thought, he includes Spock as well. "How are the elders doing?"

 

McCoy shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "Neural shock, all of them. They need specialized help with psychic trauma. There are telepaths on Earth who can help, but there's almost none aboard."

 

"Under ordinary circumstances, Vulcan mind healers would be available to assist," Spock says, struggling to keep his expression blank and his voice steady. "Unfortunately that is no longer possible. They will survive, but they will require advanced assistance to recover. I am... less affected." So not fine, but fine enough to soldier on for a bit, anyway. It's not ideal, but Kirk has to admit that he really needs Spock right now. They can't afford to bench him.

 

"We'll get them the help they need as soon as we can," Kirk promises. "For the elders, and for the rest of the survivors." _And you._

 

"Trajectory calculations are complete, keptin," Chekov reports, not wanting to interrupt but wary of wasting time when it's in such short supply. "The _Narada_ 's course appears to be taking it directly toward the Terran system."

 

"Damn," Kirk says, gaze involuntarily flicking in Spock's direction. It's easy to forget, just looking at him... Spock is only half-Vulcan. And Nero singled him out deliberately. "He's going after your homeworlds."

 

There's a glint of anger in his First Officer's eye, very out of place on a Vulcan. "A logical conclusion. Though for what purpose, I do not know."

 

"How the hell did they do that, by the way?" McCoy asks. Of course, he's been in Sickbay the whole time, left out of the loop. "What kinda weapon could make a whole planet disappear?"

 

Spock looks slightly more at ease with a scientific problem in front of him, regardless of where it came from. "The ability to create and manipulate an artificial black hole is far more advanced than Romulan technology currently allows. Such technology could theoretically be used to create a tunnel through space-time."

 

Kirk grasps the implications immediately. "You think he's from the future?"

 

"It seems the most likely scenario. As there is no known event that would prompt this level of emotional response from Romulus, the logical conclusion is that at some point in the future, this Nero will acquire some form of grievance with me specifically," Spock answers.

 

"Then what would he want with Captain Pike?" Sulu wonders. "If he's from the future, there's nothing the captain can tell him that he wouldn't already know."

 

"If Nero's been altering history since the attack on the _Kelvin_ , maybe things have changed enough that he doesn't know what's going to happen anymore," Uhura suggests. Speculation is hard right now, with the evidence of Nero's interference floating around the viewscreen, but they are Starfleet and they will continue.

 

_Jesus, this is enough to give a man a headache._ Kirk rubs at his forehead, suddenly very tired. It's been a hell of a day already, and there's more to come. It's startling to realize that not three hours ago, he was just a cadet and now, he's responsible for over four hundred souls on this ship, and quite possibly billions on Earth. "So we're in an alternate reality now?"

 

"It is quite likely," Spock agrees.

 

"Great." Kirk is silent for a moment as he takes it all in, compiling it in his head into the biggest picture he can manage. "Anyone else have anything to add?" No one does. "All right, back to your posts. Battle stations in ten minutes. Sulu, get us underway. Spock, if you have any ideas for how to boost our warp gains, we need every ounce of speed we can get and Scotty's too busy fixing stuff to do it. You have permission to pull whatever personnel have useful powers to help."

 

"Yes, Captain." Whether he realizes it or not, giving Spock a concrete problem to solve is the best way for him to channel his grief, something that is sorely needed right now.

 

Kirk reclines a little in the captain's chair, and doesn't think a thing about it. He's not here because he earned it, or because he wants to be. He's here because he needs to be. And if it turns out he doesn't truly have what it takes, the consequences will be nothing short of disaster.


	6. Countermoves

From bow to stern, the _Enterprise_ prepares for battle.

 

Deep in engineering, a team of mutants work to overcharge the warp drive with every kind of energy beam they can collectively emit. Everyone with healing powers is temporarily allocated to Sickbay, assisting McCoy and his surviving medical personnel, long overwhelmed with the sheer quantity of injuries on board. Mutants and carriers alike take their battle stations, loading the torpedo bays and ensuring that the phaser banks are fully charged and ready for combat.

 

And on the bridge, those with the training to do so are brainstorming their next move.

 

Kirk sits in the middle of the chaos, listening intently to the stream of ideas coming from every direction. Without the years of experience under his belt that every other starship captain has, he won't jump headlong into making the wrong decisions without hearing his crew's opinions first. After all, it's not just his life on the line anymore. It's theirs, and their families.

 

"They're going to have to take time to replace the drill, if they want to do to Earth what they did to Vulcan," Sulu insists. "If they stop for repair before they reach Earth, that could be the perfect time to strike."

 

"They still have those powerful torpedoes," Uhura argues. "They don't need the drill to blow us to pieces."

 

Kirk shakes his head and cuts in. "Whatever the case, we need to get aboard the _Narada_ undetected. Which means we have to somehow sneak up on them."

 

Sulu gives him a skeptical look. "We're in a _Constellation_ -class starship, sir. The whole hull is painted silver. We're not exactly built for stealth."

 

The argument would continue, if not for a sudden burst of excitement that washes across the bridge, and everyone turns to look at Chekov, who beams back at them. "Keptin! Telemetry shows that Nero vill travel past Saturn on his vay to Earth. If ve get there first and drop out of vwarp in the planet's shadow, or behind one of its moons, the magnetic distortion from the planet's rings will make us inwisible to Nero's sensors. Vith their drill nonoperational, it should be easy to beam aboard."

 

Spock raises an eyebrow. Over the last half hour, he's managed to wrestle back some of his Vulcan emotional control, although his mask is not perfect. "A plausible strategy, ensign. If Mister Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard the _Narada_ , steal the black hole device, and if possible, rescue Captain Pike."

 

Now it's Kirk's turn to look skeptical. "Mister Spock, I can't allow you to do that. Have you even been cleared for duty by Medical yet?"

 

Spock is silent for a moment. "Not officially, Captain. But Vulcans and Romulans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to efficiently access the ship's computers to locate the device. As there are no other Vulcans in a more suitable condition to undertake this task, I am the logical choice. There is no alternative."

 

Of course, his logic is flawless, at least to Kirk's understanding. He stands up from the command chair, taking a step to the edge of his first officer's personal space. "Then I'm coming with you. You're not fit to run any missions solo."

 

Spock's eyes widen slightly. "Sir, regulation one twenty-four-"

 

"Isn't relevant," Kirk interrupts. "I'm only _acting_ captain, remember? Doesn't count. Captain Pike's already over there, so if you go, you're breaking it yourself."

 

Spock's lips press together in a very subtle sign of frustration, but he looks impressed nonetheless. "You are not incorrect. I concede that perhaps in this instance, it is acceptable for captain and first officer to be away simultaneously."

 

Kirk nods and turns towards the helm. "Let's do it, Sulu." He reaches down and hits the comm switch on the arm of his command chair, calling down to Engineering. "How's our warp boost coming along?"

 

" _Ready as it'll ever be, sir,_ " one of the engineers replies. Kirk doesn't recognize the voice, but there'll be time for learning that later.

 

"Awesome. Keep it coming." He clicks off the channel. "All right, punch it," he orders. "Maximum warp."

 

"Aye, sir," Sulu says, steely determination in his voice. He pushes the throttle lever forward, increasing their speed as far as the battered ship will allow. "This is going to be a tricky bit of flying. I'll need full control over impulse engines and thrusters. If we come out too close to Saturn's gravity well, we won't even have time to kiss our asses goodbye."

 

Despite the situation, Kirk can't resist a small smile. "I have faith in you, Sulu. Chekov, reroute all manual ship controls to the helm."

 

"Yes, keptin."

 

Kirk nods and stands. "All right, Spock, let's gear up and get down to the transporter room. Chekov, the conn's yours. If we're still on Nero's ship and you have the tactical advantage, you take it. That's an order."

 

Chekov's eyes are wide and impossibly young. "Aye, keptin?" he answers, half in disbelief. But Kirk has no time to reassure him. He simply pats the young navigator's shoulder as he passes by, heading for the quartermaster for the third time today.

 

Scott is already in the transporter room when they get there several minutes later, overseeing the operation personally. Kirk flashes a tight smile as they enter. "Everything ship-shape, Scotty?"

 

"As much as she's going ta be, captain," Scott replies, sounding confident at least. "And according to your wee man on the bridge, as of about twenty seconds ago, we're currently coasting around Titan."

 

"Perfect," Kirk says, his grin a bit more genuine. Super plant powers or not, he's ridiculously glad that Sulu chose piloting instead of botany for a career. "Is the _Narada_ in range?"

 

"Aye, sir," Scott confirms, consulting the panel in front of him to double-check. "Looks like they had the same idea, dropping out of warp near Saturn, probably to repair that drill of theirs. They'll be invisible from Earth, but they're too big to hide from the _Enterprise_ up close."

 

"Even more perfect," Kirk says, satisfied with the report.

 

"What is our target destination?" Spock asks, peering over Scott's shoulder at the display. "The ship is too large to thoroughly search on foot. A point close to any human life signs would be preferable."

 

Scott shakes his head, apologetic. "Sorry, commander. The magnetic interference is playing merry hell with our sensors, too much to pinpoint any specific readings. But if there's any sense to the design of the enemy ship, you should materialize in the cargo bay. Should be nice and empty. Unless that's where they do their repairs," he adds, as though he's just thought of it.

 

Kirk and Spock share a glance, and there's no miscommunication between the two of them. The two officers draw their phasers and take their positions on the transporter pads. "All right, energize."

 

The familiar swirling white haze blankets his vision, and slowly dims. He has only seconds to process what he sees. First, that if this is a cargo bay, it's _huge_ and dark, and dripping with water for some reason. Second, that there are massive pitfalls every which way and no railings. And third... there are a half dozen startled Romulans looking back at him.

 

Kirk and Spock react in unison, spreading out and finding what little cover they can. Kirk takes a potshot at one Romulan as the alien draws his disrupter pistol, putting him down before he can fire. The sound of phaser fire behind him lets him know that Spock, too, has engaged the enemy.

 

This is a _terrible_ place for a firefight. He feels pinned down, unable to find better cover for fear of plunging to his death. Kirk's never been afraid of heights before, but what he really fears is failing. If he stupidly dies here, Earth may well be doomed.

 

And with all this weapons fire, it's going to be next to impossible to gain access to a computer.

 

There's a strange chirp from Spock's direction, and Kirk recognizes it as the tone for switching phaser settings from lethal to stun. A blue blast envelops one unfortunate Romulan, who collapses onto the gantry. "Captain, please cover me," Spock requests, strangely calm in the face of all this danger.

 

But Kirk doesn't object or ask questions, simply moves to shoot at another Romulan coming up behind his first officer. That seems to be the last of them, but he isn't going to take any chances. Kirk follows Spock, phaser at the ready, sweeping the ship in all directions.

 

Spock crouches next to the fallen Romulan and puts his hand on the man's face. For a moment, Kirk isn't sure what he's seeing, but then Spock's eyes flutter closed and a look of intense concentration settles on his face. _Touch telepaths,_ Kirk reminds himself. _That's handy._

 

"Do you have the location of their black hole weapon?" he asks after a few moments have passed. One of those Romulans surely raised the alarm, so moving sooner would be better unless they want to get shot.

 

Spock nods and drops his hand, taking up his phaser again. "And Captain Pike. They are holding a Vulcan elder prisoner as well."

 

"An elder?" That comes as a surprise. But perhaps Nero demanded a hostage from Vulcan, just as he did from the _Enterprise_. And the Vulcans need to save every member of their race that they can. "All right, lead the way."

 

The internal geometry of the _Narada_ is dizzying in its complexity and sheer illogic. Kirk's infinitely glad that Spock is here to help navigate, because he can see how easy it could be to get turned around in the twisting corridors. They come across a hangar first, and the two officers slow to a stop as they get their first look at Nero's doomsday weapon.

 

"That looks like a Vulcan ship," Kirk says in surprise. But it's not a design he's ever seen before in his life. It's shiny white and blue, standing out among the dark jagged Romulan aesthetic. Vulcan script is printed across its side - the ship's name, he assumes. "Another future ship?" he guesses.

 

Spock apparently can't resist touching the text as they pass up the entry ramp. "It is called the _Khlup-aluk_ ," he says, sounding puzzled. "I believe you would translate it as _Jellyfish_."

 

The computer hums to life, a gentle female voice broadcasting from overhead. "Voiceprint and face recognition analysis enabled. Welcome back, Ambassador Spock."

 

Holy _shit_. Kirk's startled gaze matches Spock's almost exactly. "Computer," Spock asks, looking like he might not want to actually know the answer, "what is your manufacturing origin?"

 

The computer's reply is just as emotionless as expected. "Stardate twenty-three eighty-seven, commissioned by Vulcan Science Academy."

 

Damn. Not only from the future, but from the future where Vulcan still exists, or at least the Science Academy does. "You know, I've got a hell of a lot of questions right now," Kirk begins, "but we really don't have time. Can you fly this thing?"

 

"According to the computer, I likely already have," Spock answers, examining the controls. "The ship's weaponry appears to be acceptably formidable. If you continue onward and rescue Captain Pike and the... elder, I will provide a more heavily-armed distraction." The thought hangs unspoken between them as to who this Vulcan elder might be, given the _Jellyfish_ 's origin.

 

"This place is pretty complicated," Kirk admits. "I'm not sure I'll be able to find Pike in time."

 

Spock briefly considers something, then nods to himself. "If you will consent to a brief mind-meld, I believe I can provide you with the route to his coordinates."

 

So that's what it's called. "That thing you did with the Romulan?" Kirk asks, just to be sure. He's always been wary of telepaths prying into his head, and even Pike's empathy rubs him the wrong way sometimes. But this is an emergency, and a Vulcan's telepathy is just another tool to use as efficiently as possible. "All right. Do it quick, before more Romulans show up."

 

Spock takes a moment to mentally prepare himself, then reaches out and gently places his fingers on precise points around Kirk's face. "My mind to your mind," he intones, as thousands of Vulcans have before him. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

 

The mind-meld is like nothing Kirk has ever experienced before. There's a crushing sense of grief, of bonds torn raw and bleeding, shoved down under a cracked mask that no longer serves its purpose. A deep rage at the thought of the one responsible for all this, shock still reverberating through his very soul. A love for a mother that will never again speak to him, love for his beloved Nyota who is talented and logical and full of warmth, and a growing respect for a ship full of cadets that have been asked to far exceed their abilities and have risen to the task most admirably.

 

And at the same time, he is Jim Kirk, survivor of whatever the galaxy throws at him. He has survived the crushing loss of his mutation, the loss of a father he never knew and a mother who was never home, the misplaced rage and violence of a stepfather who never wanted kids in the house. He survived one of the worst genocides in Federation history, coming through the fiery forges of his childhood tempered into a determined young man who doesn't know the meaning of the word _fail_. Forced to grow up long before his time, captain of a starship ahead of his years, doing only what is _necessary_ for survival.

 

All this passes in a flash, and then suddenly the passageways of the insane eldritch ship make _sense_ and he knows exactly where to find Nero, and where to find the two prisoners in his clutches.

 

Kirk gasps even as Spock pulls his hand away, and the Vulcan looks surprised by what else passed between them in the meld. But there is no time to speak of it. There never is, on this mission. "Got it," Kirk manages. "Get going."

 

"Yes, captain," Spock answers, just as Kirk knew he would.


	7. Convergence

For a long, horrible moment, Kirk is tempted to go directly after Nero.

 

It would be so easy. He saw Nero's place on the bridge of the _Narada_ in Spock's mind, the insane Romulan commander seated on his throne, waiting for his people to finish replacing the demolished drill so he can attack and destroy Earth. An arrogant bastard if ever there was one, and a genocidal maniac to boot. With one phaser blast, Kirk can avenge his father and all of Vulcan.

 

And probably get himself killed in the process.

 

Kirk shakes his head and turns the opposite way, taking the tunnel to the makeshift brig. Nero can wait. Captain Pike is far more important.

 

It's not really a brig, he understands. Third-hand impressions from the stunned Romulan name it as an ore processing facility, now empty of its valued cargo, now holding something far more delicate and precious. Sapient life. Knowing all this doesn't quite stop him from being horrified when he rounds the corner and sees Pike, battered and bloody, strapped to what used to be a mineral sorting table.

 

"You sure took your sweet time," Pike coughs, his voice rough like he's been gargling gravel. "I've been sensing you for the last fifteen minutes."

 

There's a loud, irregular booming sound echoing from somewhere else in the ship, and the _Narada_ shudders with every crash. Spock's diversion, Kirk supposes.

 

"Sorry, captain," Kirk says, only half-meaning the apology. He's fairly certain that Pike would be warning him about any Romulans approaching or inside the room, so he only gives the makeshift brig a single sweep before entering, hurrying to his captain's side to undo his restraints.

 

"What're you doing here anyway?" Pike grumbles, but before Kirk can answer, his eyes widen. "Romulan coming down the hall, behind you."

 

Kirk ducks behind the sorting table and crouches in half-cover, drawing his phaser and aiming it towards the door. The moment he sees movement, he fires, and a surprised-looking Romulan collapses just inside. "Thanks for the warning," he says to Pike, straightening up and finishing removing the captain's restraints. Pike makes a token attempt to rise, but his body isn't responding correctly.

 

"Shit, captain, stay down," Kirk says, putting a hand on Pike's chest. "You're not looking too great."

 

"If you free me, I may assist you in evacuating Captain Pike," a new voice cuts in, sounding elderly and tired, yet _familiar_ somehow. Kirk turns and finally sees where the other prisoner is located. A very old Vulcan is sequestered inside a cage built out of scrap, set off to the side of the interrogation area. Withered hands grasp at the bars, and dark familiar eyes widen almost imperceptibly at seeing Kirk's face. "Jim?" the Vulcan breathes in disbelief.

 

Kirk is already moving, ready to blast the cage open with his phaser. "That's my name. Stand back, Ambassador."

 

The old Vulcan raises an eyebrow, but does as he is requested. The phaser easily melts enough of the scrap to allow him to escape, and he approaches the two Starfleet officers. "If you will permit me, captain," he addresses Pike.

 

"Let's get the hell out of here," Pike agrees, allowing himself to be helped off the table. One arm goes over the Vulcan's shoulder, the other over Kirk's. His legs dangle uselessly, but with two people to assist, it's not even close to a problem.

 

Kirk uses his free hand to flip open his communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_. Three for beam-out, on the double."

 

" _Aye sir, stand by._ "

 

The instant they materialize on the _Enterprise_ , Kirk can tell that something has changed. There's a deep thrumming under his boots, and the jolt of photon torpedoes being fired. One way or another, Chekov has followed his order to press the advantage. Then the transporter pad next to him activates, and Spock appears, looking faintly surprised to even be alive.

 

And then McCoy is there with a team of nurses, expertly taking charge and easing the captain down on a waiting stretcher. "I've got him," he tells Kirk. "You'd better get up to the bridge." He frowns as he finally notices they've picked up one more Vulcan than they started with. "You injured?"

 

The elderly Vulcan's mouth opens to reply, then he apparently thinks better of it and closes it again for a moment. "I am as well as can be expected, doctor."

 

"Good. Get your ass down to Sickbay with the rest of the elders," McCoy says, a bit dismissive as he focuses his main attention on Captain Pike. The Vulcan doesn't look offended, however, simply looks around with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

"Come on, Spock," Kirk says to his first officer, and doesn't miss the elderly Vulcan turning his head at the name too. He's going to _have_ to pick this guy's brain after this is all over. He spares a nod towards the elder before they leave for the bridge, and Kirk notices that the shuddering of torpedo fire has stopped.

 

The reason why is abundantly clear, the moment he sees the viewscreen. The black ship _Narada_ is caught in a swirling, writhing energy field of some kind - a lightning storm in space. But this time, the ship is not passing through it unharmed. Whatever created this portal, it clearly started mid-decks, and now the opposing forces are ripping the Romulan ship apart.

 

"Keptin," Chekov reports, the moment he notices Kirk and Spock's arrival, "the enemy wessel is losing power and their shields are down."

 

"Uhura, open a channel," Kirk says. Oddly, this moment doesn't feel as triumphant as he thought it would. Nero and his people may be destroyed here today, but it won't bring back the six billion Vulcan lives that he took, nor will it bring back George Kirk.

 

The twisted, angry face of the Romulan captain appears on the viewscreen. " _What?!_ " he snarls.

 

Kirk settles that captainly mantle across his shoulders, and lifts his head to stare Nero in the eye, no trace of a smirk anywhere on his face. "This is Captain Vel-James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. Your ship is compromised and you will not escape the singularity unless given assistance, which we are willing to provide."

 

Everyone on the bridge is staring at Kirk, but none so strongly as Spock, who immediately turns away from the viewscreen so Nero cannot see his face. "Captain, what are you doing?" he asks in a low voice.

 

Kirk follows his lead and turns to face the rear of the bridge. "Things with Romulus are going to be rough enough without having this hanging over our heads. Offering compassion might be the only way to keep the peace."

 

Spock presses his lips together, biting down on his first reply. "I must find that in this circumstance, though your reasoning is logical, I do not agree."

 

Fortunately, there is no need to argue. " _I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times,_ " Nero snaps, his dark eyes wild with madness. " _I would rather die in_ agony _than accept assistance from you!_ "

 

Kirk shrugs. "So be it." He motions to Uhura to cut the transmission, and Nero's image blinks out of existence. "Sulu, move us to a safe distance. We're not leaving until this bastard is spaghettified."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

If anyone on the bridge is disappointed that they aren't finishing off the mortally wounded ship themselves, nobody says so. Instead, the _Enterprise_ retreats enough to be out of the danger zone and on the viewscreen, the _Narada_ writhes in its death throes. Pulled apart at the atomic level, the Romulan mining vessel breaks into fragments too small to track with the naked eye, sucked into the powerful singularity without any resistance. Part of Saturn's rings get pulled away from the planet and plunge into the depths of the black hole too, stretching endlessly as the _Narada_ drags them down with it.

 

Kirk and Spock stand, shoulder to shoulder, and watch in silence. One avenging his father, the other avenging his mother, they both take a heavy satisfaction from watching the cause of so much pain disappear into blackness.

 

When the last fragments of the black ship are finally out of the range of human sight, Kirk blows out his breath in an exhausted sigh. "Uhura, send a report to Starfleet Command," he says. "Let them know the threat is over. Chekov, please plot us a course back to Vulcan. We'll pick up as many survivors as we can manage before heading back to Earth."

 

It's only when he turns, intending to sit in the command chair, that he notices there is an interloper on the bridge. The elderly Vulcan stands just outside the turbolift, fingers steepled together as he watches silently, an oddly nostalgic look on his face.

 

"Can I help you?" Kirk asks, feeling like it's a dumb question. But dammit, this is _his_ bridge, as long as Pike is still out of commission.

 

"Please forgive me," the Vulcan answers, his old weary voice sincere in its apology. "I could not resist the temptation, captain."

 

Now more than ever, Kirk is aware of the lieutenant stripes on his sleeves. He's been acting captain for a matter of hours, but it feels like years. And a part of him wonders if his father would've felt the same way, had he survived. He'll never know.

 

"That's okay," he says, reminding himself of who this Vulcan is. If all the evidence is pointing them toward the right conclusion, then the elder is seeing a lot of things he hasn't had the chance to for decades. "I'd actually like to talk to you, if that's all right."

 

The old Vulcan doesn't look remotely surprised. "As would I. Once we arrive at Earth, I would be content to answer your questions. For now, I believe your duties will require your attention for some time."

 

Of course, he's absolutely right. The rescue efforts at Vulcan are going to be tough going, and coming into Spacedock is bound to be a complete madhouse. Kirk tilts his head slightly in agreement. "Don't go running off on us now, Ambassador."

 

The old Vulcan's eyes soften slightly. "I would never, captain. I look forward to our next meeting." He lifts one hand, spreading his fingers in the _ta'al_ , the famed Vulcan salute. "I shall see you again soon."


	8. Recovery

If McCoy thought that Sickbay was chaos incarnate before, it's nothing compared to how it is now. Every biobed is full, every single seat in Medical taken, and patients are even stretched out on the floor. There's a headache throbbing behind his eyes so hard that he can feel it in his teeth, his lungs are burning from inhaling a ridiculous quantity of smoke and god knows how many chemicals, and he could _really_ use a good dunk in the ship's pool to stop his gills from wanting to explode out of his neck.

 

So he's understandably not in the greatest mood when security haul down another load of patients for his attention. "Jumping Jehoshaphat, does _anybody_ know what triage means?" he snaps, waving a tricorder in their direction. "Broken bones can wait! If you aren't dying or critical, get the hell out and wait your turn."

 

Acting Captain Kirk, goddamn his ass, takes one look in Medical and then disappears to God-knows-where. McCoy can't even muster the energy to be angry that his friend hasn't even offered to help, too focused on clamping severed arteries and shocking arrhythmias. It's not until a strange, almost unnatural calm descends upon Sickbay that McCoy realizes Kirk is back, and he's got someone with him.

 

"How long can you keep this up?" Kirk asks in a low voice.

 

"Long enough," says the kid in the gold shirt, Chekov something, the Russian child who's somehow blanketed the entire deck with warm fuzzy feelings through the power of his mind or some shit like that. "I vant to help, keptin."

 

Kirk rests a hand on Chekov's shoulder. "You are already. Good work."

 

McCoy looks at the two of them, feeling his own anger and anxiety snuffed out underneath the restful calm the kid is projecting all over the room. "Hell of a bedside manner you've got there."

 

Chekov gives him a small smile. There's sadness in his eyes, but he's managing to keep it out of whatever mutant voodoo he's doing to calm the patients. And the doctors. "I vill try to stay out of your way, doctor."

 

"Bones," Kirk says, approaching his friend. "When's the last time you took a break?"

 

McCoy scowls, but his heart's not in it anymore. "Right before we left Earth, probably. It's been a hell of a day. You know that better'n me."

 

Kirk nods, apparently having expected that answer. "We need to start rotating crew out for rest breaks. You won't do your patients any favors if you work yourself to death or collapse in the middle of surgery."

 

"Jim, I can't just leave them like this."

 

"Yes, you can. You've got plenty of nurses to fill in for you while you go eat something and soak your head," Kirk says patiently, in that way that never fails to both irritate the hell out of him and simultaneously make him do as he's asked. "Rescue ships are starting to arrive around Vulcan, so once we're full up on passengers, we're headed out anyway."

 

"Thank Christ." Even Chekov's power won't stop the overwhelming wave of relief from washing over him. "We're not a medical transport, Jim."

 

"I know, Bones. But you're the best, and you've helped save a lot of lives today." Kirk hesitates for a moment, glancing around the crowded Sickbay like he's looking for someone. "How's the Captain doing?"

 

McCoy runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that he's streaking more blood over his head. There's too much there already to care about a little bit more. "Not good. He'll need surgery on his nervous system if he ever wants to walk again, but I can't do that here, not with more critical patients. He's not in any mortal danger right now though. Got him in one of the private rooms near crew quarters; that's where we're putting all the stable cases. Kind of running out of room here."

 

Kirk nods, storing that info with the rest of whatever reports he's got rattling around in there. "Would it be okay if I stopped in to visit him?"

 

McCoy pauses, considering that. He's been way too focused on immediate physical dangers to worry too much about the psychological health of his patients. "Guess it couldn't hurt. Don't keep him up more than fifteen minutes though. He needs rest more than anything."

 

"Will do," Kirk agrees. "I want you off-duty for at least half an hour. Go shower and eat. I'll make it an order if I have to."

 

McCoy glares at him, but there's no real heat behind it, not with Chekov's power muting everything but peaceable thoughts. "Don't let the power go to your head, _captain_."

 

"Way too late, Bones."

 

McCoy shakes his head as the acting captain heads out, leaving Chekov behind. The kid's sequestered himself in a corner where he can see everyone without being in the way, and he smiles at the doctor. "Go on, sir," he says softly. "I vill be here as long as you need me to be."

 

A few decks above Sickbay, Kirk finds the room that's been assigned to Captain Pike, and quietly enters in case the captain is sleeping. The old officer's steely eyes open at the soft whisper of the door sliding open, and the riotously active mind stepping through. "Kirk."

 

Kirk straightens a little, unconsciously moving to attention. "Captain. Good to see you again, sir."

 

Pike waves a hand tiredly at the nearest chair. "James, sit the hell down and stop with the sir. You hauled my ass out of that Romulan hellhole today, so if that doesn't entitle you to be a bit more casual with your CO, nothing will. Besides, I'm off-duty."

 

He can't help a smile from spreading across his face as he drags the chair closer to the bed and sits down. "God _damn_ it's great to have you back." Whatever those bastards did to him, they clearly did a piss-poor job of breaking his spirit because this is the exact same Pike he's known for the last three years. "How're you doing?"

 

"Been better, but I'll live," Pike admits. There's clearly no point in dwelling on his prognosis. _Kadiith_ \- what is, is. A great Vulcan loan word that made its way into Earth tongues not long after first contact. "Gotta admit, Kirk, when I told you that you could outdo your old man, I wasn't expecting anything like this."

 

Kirk's heart swells with pride and gratitude for the praise, but where he once would have arrogantly assumed it was his due, it's now tempered with a little humility and reason. "Wasn't just me, captain. The crew did a hell of a job, all of them. I couldn't have done it without them."

 

Pike's eyes narrow a little as he studies Kirk's face, and it's impossible to tell just what he's looking for. Apparently he finds it, because he relaxes back into the pillows a bit. "No starship captain succeeds alone. You may not wear the rank, but you've definitely got what it takes." He still has that stern, fatherly look that he never seems to want to shake, but the corners of his eyes crinkle up in a gentle smile. "So now that you've had a _real_ taste, what do you think of command?"

 

"Way more intense than the sims," Kirk answers immediately, and then gives it a little deeper thought, something he never would've done even a week ago. "It's challenging. There's a lot riding on you, and no one to tell you what the next move should be. It's half reasoning through it and half gut instinct. If you screw up, people die. Even if you don't screw up, sometimes." He takes in a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. "No offense, sir, but the Kobayashi Maru isn't anything like the real thing."

 

"No, it isn't," Pike agrees, and tilts his head slightly, giving him that piercing look that usually means he's reading James T. Kirk like a goddamn open book. "And you pulled a solution out of your ass for both, with no powers to back you up."

 

Kirk can feel his face flushing hot as Pike speaks, and he tamps down on his emotions as much as he can. "It's what I do, captain."

 

Pike studies his face for a long moment, then slowly shakes his head. "Don't I know it." He reaches over with an unsteady hand and gives Kirk a light, friendly shove. "You look like hell, Kirk. Go take a nap."

 

Kirk can't resist a cheeky grin. "Is that an order, sir?"

 

"Smartass," Pike mutters.


	9. Answers

As expected, the _Enterprise_ 's arrival at Spacedock is nothing short of a media circus.

 

The ship herself is quite a sight, and the image is slapped all over news releases across the quadrant. Battle-scarred, holes blown clear through her decks, carbon scoring over every meter of hull, she maneuvers into dock on her own power with nary a hiccup. And the only thing that keeps the journalists from mobbing the crew as they offload is that there are so many priority medical transports needed before anything else. Critical patients are beamed directly to Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Lesser injuries are seen by various other Starfleet medical facilities on the west coast of the Americas, and the surviving Vulcans are given priority at a telepathic healer's clinic in Boston.

 

Per regulations, the command crew is slated to be the last to disembark. Kirk watches the hoopla on the main viewscreen while the rest of the crew is transported home to their families, already feeling the headache threatening to surge behind his eyes. "Show of hands, who else isn't looking forward to this?" he mutters to the bridge at large.

 

Chekov's hand shoots up immediately, followed shortly by Sulu. Uhura rolls her eyes but lifts one hand slightly. Spock raises an eyebrow. "I do not understand why this is being put to a vote."

 

"It's a solidarity thing, Spock," McCoy grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. The doctor looks a lot better after he's had a little time to clean up and rest, but he still looks like he's been run ragged. They all do. It's been one hell of a long day.

 

"I see," Spock says. And here Kirk thought that Vulcans can't lie, because that was blatant as fuck.

 

"I don't suppose there's any way we can skip out on the whole interview thing," Sulu says hopefully, turning around in his chair to look back at the others.

 

"We're still on the clock, Mister Sulu," Kirk answers, and forces himself to sit up a bit straighter in the command chair. This thing is a lot more comfortable than it looks, but after hours of sitting his ass in the seat, he's starting to get a bit stiff. "Besides, the better impression we make now, the better it looks to Starfleet. After the losses we've had today, lots of people will need some kind of good news."

 

"Indeed," Spock agrees quietly, without needing to ask why.

 

Kirk pauses, and turns to face Chekov. "Mister Chekov... we give them ten minutes to ask all the questions they want, we'll shake hands and kiss babies, and then everyone's satisfied and goes home. Understood?"

 

Chekov's mouth hangs open a little as he realizes what Kirk is asking him to do. "Keptin, you want me to use my powers on them?"

 

McCoy snorts in amusement. "Damn straight he is."

 

Kirk swivels the chair to look around at everyone. "Anyone opposed?" he challenges.

 

No one is, and Chekov grins a little. "Aye, keptin. Ten minutes."

 

Later, when asked what exactly the command crew said and did when confronted by the massive crush of reporters in Spacedock, none of them remember any details. There's a lot of shouting, a lot of camera flashes going off in everyone's faces, and Kirk swears his face is going to freeze in this charming, stupid-looking grin he's put on for the news. He gives a few soundbytes, though without hearing the recordings later he'll never recall what exactly he said, and the next thing he clearly remembers is breathing out a huge sigh of relief as the transporter materializes him on the campus of Starfleet Academy.

 

Home.

 

Except... it isn't, anymore.

 

His smile fades as he looks around the empty campus, and remembers that besides the _Enterprise_ crew and a few very lucky survivors from the other ships, the vast majority of the student body is dead, floating in space around the black hole that used to be Vulcan. The instructors, too. In the span of a single day, so many lives have been cut short, or changed forever.

 

There is only one other living being in sight, sitting on one of the park benches lining the walkways between buildings, facing the distant sight of San Francisco Bay. Even from a distance, Kirk is pretty sure he knows who it is, and he moves to close the gap and take a seat next to the robed figure.

 

"I theorized that this might be your first choice of refuge," the elderly Vulcan from the _Narada_ says, his hands clasped together in his lap. "I am pleased to have been proven correct."

 

Finally given the time to do so, Kirk looks closely at the Vulcan, studying him. The elder's face is lined with age, pointed ears drooping slightly, and his hair is fully silver. But it's that same stupid bowl cut that should never look that good on _anyone_ , the same dark eyes that look so human despite his Vulcan features, the same elegantly arched eyebrows. "You're Spock. From the future."

 

Even the way he raises his eyebrow in surprise is the same. "Your intuition serves you well, old friend." There's a warmth in his voice that Kirk has never heard from a Vulcan before, a kind of love that speaks of a very old, long-lived friendship. It's kind of bizarre and comforting at the same time.

 

"Your ship kind of gave it away," Kirk confesses. "The _Jellyfish_. Sorry about that, by the way."

 

"Its destruction was for the best," the elder Spock answers, with no regret or blame in his eyes. "Red matter is far too dangerous to allow any further experimentation, and you may not have destroyed Nero's ship without it. I am satisfied that it served its purpose as best as it could."

 

"Yeah, about that," Kirk says. He's been wondering how this conversation would go since the moment he saw the ambassador in his makeshift cage, and the time between hasn't really helped him decide how to ask. So hell with it. "Why did you come back in time? Why did Nero?"

 

The old Vulcan's face falls slightly. "It was not intentional, Jim. The red matter was intended to destroy a supernova which threatened entire star systems, but I did not arrive in time to save Romulus. This is the crime for which Nero held me responsible." Old Spock closes his eyes for a moment, and Kirk politely looks away, allowing him to recover his composure. "The black hole I created was too massive for our ships to escape. Nero emerged on the other side first. I have come to understand that his influence has had a significant impact on events, even before today."

 

"I wouldn't know," Kirk says, but there's no heat to his words. He's never known any other reality to be true than the one that he's lived so far. "But I can guess. In your timeline, Vulcan still exists."

 

"Yes." There's completely naked grief in the elder's voice, unhidden by the typical Vulcan stoicism. "And your father, George Kirk, proudly lived to see you become Captain of the _Enterprise_."

 

Kirk finds that he can barely swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. "Captain. The real captain?"

 

Old Spock smiles, a little sadly. "Of course. The youngest captain in Starfleet history at the time, though you were older than you are now. I believe in my time, at your age, you were serving on the _Farragut_."

 

"Oh." He can't help recalling the shattered remains of the _Farragut_ 's saucer drifting in the skies above Vulcan, and feels guilty for his relief that he wasn't assigned to that doomed ship after all. "Actually I'm still a cadet. Technically."

 

The old Vulcan raises his eyebrow again, genuinely surprised. "Indeed? You did not apply for admission as soon as you completed your primary education?"

 

It's been a long time since Kirk has had cause to be embarrassed by his past. "I never graduated, actually," he admits. "Quit school when I was twelve."

 

"Ah." The elder Spock does not ask, and the sympathetic look in his eye tells Kirk why he doesn't need to. Nor has he asked about Jim's mutation, or lack thereof. Thank God for small favors. Today has been painful enough without dragging up old, bad memories too. He deliberately doesn't think about the fact that his alternate self also went to Tarsus and lived through that hell.

 

Kirk clears his throat, and changes the subject. "I'm sorry that you're marooned here. I'm not sure there's any way to get you back to your reality."

 

"Do not trouble yourself, Jim," old Spock says kindly. "It has been... very pleasing to see old friends again, despite the circumstances. I have not seen your face in ninety-four years. I have missed you dearly."

 

It's a bit awkward to hear that from someone he's just met, but this is _Spock_. After the mind-meld earlier today, Kirk feels that he's known Spock for far longer than it's actually been. And the affection and heartbreak in the old Vulcan's eyes is obvious, even to him. "Just me?" he says with a weak smile.

 

"Surprisingly, no," the elder Vulcan admits. "Despite the divergence between our universes, events seem to be conspiring to bring the core of your crew together: Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Mister Scott, even Doctor McCoy. As if the universe was attempting to heal itself somehow." He shakes his head slightly. "But I digress. Your destinies are your own, and you must discover these friendships for yourself. And I must find my place in this universe."

 

Kirk is a little disappointed, but he understands completely. "What do you think you'll do now?"

 

"Rebuild," the old Spock answers, as if it was the only response possible. "With so few Vulcans left, we must consolidate what remains of our culture and preserve it. If that means revealing my true nature to Starfleet and my people, then so be it."

 

Kirk nods slowly. "Logical."

 

"Thank you, captain."

 

He smiles a little as they both stand, and old Spock's hand raises in the _ta'al_ salute. "Peace and long life, Jim."

 

Kirk's attempt at the Vulcan gesture is unskilled, but passable. And he knows the response by heart, as does every Earth human. "Live long and prosper, Ambassador Spock. Good luck."


	10. Earthside

"Kirk." The bartender eyes him somewhat warily, looking him up and down. "It's been a while. You here to start trouble again?"

 

"Believe it or not, John, no," Kirk answers with his famous disarming grin. "You watch the news?"

 

"Can't miss it," the barkeep grunts in reply. "But I know you. Don't be bringing any grudges into my establishment tonight."

 

"No grudges," Kirk swears, raising one hand as if he's giving an oath. "I just want a table for seven. And put all their drinks on my tab tonight."

 

"Seven?" the bartender repeats, looking skeptical. "Even you aren't that ambitious."

 

Kirk laughs, and hears an echoing laugh behind him as Uhura walks up, catching the last part of their conversation. "Seven," she confirms, raising her voice a little to be heard over the thumping music. "Side room, if you've got it available."

 

The skepticism turns to mild astonishment, but he nods. "All right. Kirk, party of seven, east side quiet room. Don't do anything I'm gonna have to clean up."

 

Unlike last time, Uhura doesn't hesitate to follow Kirk, a genuine smile on her face. "You really think Spock will join us? He's not a fan of loud social gatherings. Or alcohol."

 

The loud music is muffled as they step through the quiet room doors, revealing a cozy round table just big enough for seven or eight people. With no head of the table to claim, Kirk just picks a seat and flops down in it comfortably. "You never know. Besides, he doesn't have to partake in our human illogicalness of getting wasted if he doesn't want to. He can be the designated driver."

 

The outside wall is fitted with a large window, and in the hazy distance, Kirk can barely make out the shape of Riverside Shipyards. Somewhere out there, the _Enterprise_ is in drydock, undergoing much-needed repairs. They may have served on her for less than a day, but Kirk can't deny that he feels attached to her already, joined at the soul like a favorite lover.

 

Uhura sits in the chair to the left of him, turning to face the shipyards too, comfortable in his presence like she's never been before. It certainly helps that he hasn't seriously flirted with her once since he first took the captain's chair. "I think it's more the part where we're half a continent away when there are perfectly good bars in San Francisco."

 

"Yeah, but this one's special." Kirk doesn't elaborate, and she doesn't really have to ask why. His presence on the shuttle three years ago, dressed in civvies and with a broken nose, was testament enough.

 

The door opens, and McCoy steps through, his neck still wrapped with medicated gauze to help his irritated gills heal. "Only you would drag us all the way out here for a drink," he grumbles, but takes a seat at Kirk's right hand, what seems like his semi-permanent place to be these days. "You miss home that much?"

 

Kirk just shakes his head. "Riverside isn't home, Bones. Hasn't been for a long time."

 

Everyone senses Chekov before they see him, as his youthful enthusiasm precedes his arrival, soaking the room in excitement at being invited to share a drink with the rest of the bridge crew. Just ahead of him, Sulu can't stop smiling either as he all but drags Scott along. "You need a break, sir," he says encouragingly. "The _Enterprise_ will still be there after you've had a drink or five."

 

"I guess there cannae be any harm in it..."

 

His crew settles in at the table, and Kirk pauses a moment at the thought. _His_ crew. He may not be acting captain anymore, but all that crazy shit they went through with Nero means they share something now, and Kirk just can't help but be a bit possessive of his fellow officers. It's just too bad Spock didn't decide to come along.

 

"I'll order the first round," Kirk says, getting up to go signal one of the waitresses. The door slides open, and on the other side is everyone's favorite Vulcan, looking moderately surprised to be face to face with Kirk. "Spock! You made it! We weren't sure if you were coming."

 

Spock clasps his hands behind his back, comfortable with taking the slightly more formal approach. He's wearing Academy greys instead of his shipboard uniform, and Kirk never really expected less. A Vulcan in ordinary Earth civilian clothes would be a bit strange, to say the least. "It is not in my nature to consume intoxicants for pleasurable purposes. Such a thing is blatantly illogical."

 

Kirk looks at him skeptically. "And yet, here you are."

 

"Yes," Spock agrees, looking perturbed by that as well. "Here I am." He tilts his head slightly. "As this may be the last time this particular configuration of crew is present simultaneously, it seemed appropriate to accept your invitation to socially engage with all of you."

 

The Vulcan's poker face is just as strong as it always has been, but Kirk looks at him a little sideways. He gets the feeling that he isn't the only one that Ambassador Spock wanted a private conversation with, and perhaps something can be said of Spock's human half, to boot. Kirk gives the commander a charming smile. "And of course your girlfriend is here."

 

"That is true also," Spock admits easily.

 

Kirk laughs, and takes a step back so Spock can fully enter the room. "Go have a seat, Spock. I'm going to put in our order. What'll you have?"

 

"Water would be fine, Cadet Kirk."

 

Kirk is ready to object and needle Spock about choosing the most boring, basic drink on any menu, but then he stops and thinks about it. Of course, Vulcan had been a desert world. So he just nods in understanding, and goes to complete his task.

 

The drinks arrive in short order, and while Spock is the only one lacking an alcoholic beverage, everyone gets a glass of water too. "What's this for?" McCoy asks with a frown.

 

Kirk lifts his own water glass a little, his expression sobering. "Tonight we celebrate the destruction of the _Narada_ and the _Enterprise_ 's successful return to Earth. But more importantly, we remember those who are no longer with us. The crewmen on the _Enterprise_ who gave their lives in the line of duty. The crews of the _USS Farragut_ , the _USS Hood_ , the _USS Truman_ , the _USS Lexington_ , the _USS Agincourt_ , and the _USS Fitzgerald_. And most of all, Vulcan herself." He spares a glance at Spock, who actually looks a little stunned. "To absent friends, and beloved family."

 

There's a murmured echo around the table, and everyone toasts with their water, even Spock. " _Tushah nash-veh k'odular_ ," the Vulcan says quietly. "Thank you, Captain."

 

Kirk considers protesting that he's not the captain anymore, but the way Spock says it like it means something more to him... well. He won't reject a gift like that. "It was the least I could do."

 

Uhura's giving him a look that implies she's perhaps only just now realizing that Kirk has greater depths than his arrogant playboy persona would suggest, but she just smiles slightly and nods in approval. On the other side of the table, Scott and Chekov are getting into a vigorous cultural debate over the origin of scotch, while Sulu simply rolls his eyes and sips at his martini.

 

Despite the somber start to their gathering, everyone seems to be relaxing and enjoying each other's company, even Spock - although, granted, he spends more time with Uhura than anyone else, and rarely adds anything to the conversation. Kirk wonders how they must appear to him - emotional, brash, forming attachments to each other after only a single day's service together. And yet they're certainly a diverse group, hailing from completely different backgrounds. Some mutants, some carriers. And yet only by working together were they able to defeat Nero and bring some kind of peace to the departed.

 

"So," McCoy says, interrupting Kirk's thoughts, "what do you think Command's gonna do next? The whole hierarchy just got shook up somethin' fierce."

 

"Hadn't thought about it yet," Kirk admits, idly running a finger along the rim of his whiskey glass. "We only had a couple months left before graduation anyway."

 

"You mean _you_ did," McCoy mutters into his mint julep.

 

Kirk pretends he didn't hear that. "Chances are probably really good we'll get assigned to the _Enterprise_ , if you think about it. She's the ship with the most vacant posts at the moment, and we've all got experience with her."

 

"Captain Pike won't be ready to go back on active duty for months at least," McCoy warns him. "I know you two are pretty close, but you won't be serving under him."

 

"Yeah, I know. We'll probably get some captain I've never heard of, or can't stand," Kirk agrees. "Or they might really go off the deep end and make me captain for real," he jokes.

 

Three weeks later, Kirk gapes at an incoming message on his padd, straight from the Admiralty Board. "I was _kidding_!"


	11. Promotion

As always, Pike feels Kirk approaching _long_ before he actually sees him. There's a bright, almost blinding quality to the man's emotions no matter what he's feeling, ringing truer than a fingerprint or a retinal scan that marks it as pure James T. Kirk. As expected, there's exhilaration and anticipation, but there's also a strange undercurrent of something that almost feels like fear.

 

The poor doors of Starfleet Medical's recovery ward did nothing to merit the treatment Kirk gives them as he storms through, brandishing a padd in Pike's direction. "Did you put them up to this?" he demands without fanfare or even a simple hello.

 

Pike leans back against his pillows, drawing on all his experience as a starship captain to keep a straight face. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Kirk."

 

Kirk gives him an incredulous look, though it isn't exactly echoed by what Pike can sense from him. He turns the padd so Pike can read it, and starts reciting the text from memory. "'It is the decision of Starfleet Command that Cadet Vel-James Tiberius Kirk be promoted to the rank of Captain upon graduation from Starfleet Academy, relieving Admiral Tsel-Christopher Pike as commander of the _USS Enterprise_.' There's a hell of a lot of words there, sir, but honestly I kinda stopped reading after that."

 

"I read the reports of your command performance after I left the ship," Pike says, which isn't _really_ an answer to the question. Kirk scowls, a bit put off by that, but he's listening. A far cry from his response in that dive bar three years ago, that's for certain. "You're inexperienced but you made a hell of a lot of command decisions that day, most of them good ones."

 

"I don't want to be given command on a silver platter just because I got lucky," Kirk protests. There's a ring of truth to that; Kirk clearly doesn't want to be any kind of charity case, and Pike expects nothing less of him.

 

"You aren't," Pike says firmly. "Even seasoned officers might freeze or hesitate when suddenly thrust into the captain's chair, but you immediately jumped on the problem and did your damndest to wrestle it into submission. You listened to your officers' ideas and suggestions to put together a viable plan of action on the spot, and executed it as well as you possibly could have. You organized the search and rescue operations around the Vulcan singularity and no doubt saved hundreds if not thousands of lives in the process. You also broke at least half a dozen regulations in the process, but they weren't exactly designed to deal with time-traveling genocidal maniacs either. No one on board would have done a finer job than you did."

 

Kirk doesn't feel like he agrees, but a part of him is pleased with the praise. "Not even Spock?"

 

"Commander Spock is a fine science officer, and an excellent XO," Pike answers promptly, having expected that question. "But as you were so adept at pointing out, being a captain is more than just the logic of the situation. It takes gut instinct, human ingenuity. Spock _has_ that but he's too stubborn to use it like a human would. He's got a lot to learn about command before he's ready to take the center seat permanently."

 

Kirk's hand tightens a little on the padd, his emotions a whirling maelstrom of indecision, dread, and an almost hysterical hope. "The fact that it'll look good to the media's just a bonus, huh?"

 

"I won't deny it," Pike agrees. "You'll be the first Carrier to make Captain in ten years, and that's not insignificant. But the truth of the matter is Starfleet _needs you_. We lost a lot of personnel in the ambush over Vulcan. If there was anyone similarly qualified to lead in my place, they're not around anymore and I'm not convinced they existed in the first place. _I_ need someone I trust in the command chair of the _Enterprise_ , and that's you, Kirk."

 

It doesn't show anywhere on Kirk's face, but Pike can tell he's just delivered a verbal gutpunch. "What if I can't do it?" he asks, and Pike can tell he's not talking about being too busy or something inane like that.

 

"You can," he answers simply. "No one expects you to have all the answers. You'll make mistakes, just like everyone else. No starship captain is infallible. But you won't get experience without doing, and you'll have Starfleet to draw on for advice and research to make the best decisions possible. Not to mention your crew."

 

There's a glint in Kirk's eye, and a fierce protectiveness and determination in his heart. "Do I get to pick my crew, or are they assigned?"

 

Pike smiles a little, feeling the shift from uncertain cadet to fledgling captain take place in the span of a heartbeat. "A little of both. You can select as many personnel as you want, though it's up to them to accept the post or not. Starfleet Command can override any of your selections if they have good reason to believe that crewman is not suitable, or if they're needed elsewhere, but you get first say in the situation. And of course if anyone requests assignment to the _Enterprise_ , it's your right to accept or deny them."

 

Kirk considers that, already mentally formatting the hundreds of letters he's planning to draft. But the question he asks next is not one that Pike was expecting. "How do _you_ feel about this, sir? I know the _Enterprise_ was supposed to be your baby."

 

Pike is silent for a moment while he seriously thinks about his answer. "Disappointed, but not surprised. I won't be medically fit to take the chair for quite some time, but here at Command I can do plenty from a desk. And at least I got to lead her on one mission, brief though my tenure was. It helps to know that if I can't have her, I'm leaving her in capable hands." He fixes Kirk with his best stern look. "But I do expect you to bring her back with fewer holes next time."

 

A hint of amusement bubbles up in Kirk at that, just as Pike intended. "No promises, sir."

 

Pike allows one side of his mouth to twitch upward in a half-smile. "You'll do fine, Kirk. And if you need advice or a listening ear, I know damn well you hacked my comm frequency years ago."

 

Kirk's look of innocence has never, ever fooled Pike once but that doesn't stop him from trying. "Don't know what you mean, sir."

 

"Of course not." Pike nods, reassured. There have been times where he'd second-guessed his decision to recruit Kirk, where he'd wondered if he'd misread the kid, especially in light of that rather spectacular hack job he did on the Kobayashi Maru test. Under normal circumstances, that alone might've gotten him drummed right out of the service or reassigned to the most remote outpost Starfleet has. But as it turns out, Kirk takes after his father far more than he'll ever admit.

 

Starfleet might not actually know what hit them.

 

"Well," Kirk says, his thoughts coming to a razor-sharp point as he homes in on his next target, "I'd better get going then. Got a lot of letters to write to my crew."

 

"You want any help?" Pike offers. After all, Kirk's never done this before either.

 

Kirk grins in reply, confidence settling across his shoulders like a mantle. "I think I'll be all right. Thanks, Admiral."

 

"You're welcome, Captain," Pike replies, and he can feel his own acceptance of the new rank just as Kirk does his own. "Good luck."

 

Just over a month later, the surviving faculty and students meet one final time to formally promote the cadets to full officers. The sea of red cadet uniforms is gone, replaced by dress grays, and one by one their names are called forward to receive their new rank insignia pinned to their shoulder marks. Some former cadets are also given commendations or medals for their exemplary actions in the field.

 

Pike sits in his wheelchair to one side, dressed in his new white admiral's uniform, watching the graduation ceremony with pride. He may have only had a brief hand in the events of the second _Narada_ incident, but it was _his_ crew that rose to the challenge and succeeded against the longest odds of his career.

 

The room holds its collective breath as they reach the one name everyone has been waiting for. "Cadet Vel-James Tiberius Kirk," Admiral Barnett calls.

 

Kirk's composure is Starfleet-perfect, stepping up to the center stage without a hint of swagger as he salutes the Admiralty Board, and he holds perfectly still as his captain's insignia is pinned to his shoulders, and a medal to his chest.

 

"Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service," Barnett continues. "For your actions aboard the _USS Enterprise_ , and to reflect utmost credit to you, your crew, and the Federation, it is my honor to award you with the Starfleet Medal of Honor, and promote you to the rank of Captain. By Starfleet Order two eight four five five, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Tsel-Christopher Pike, _USS Enterprise_ , for duty as his relief."

 

 _Captain_ Kirk strides over to Pike, full of pride and respect, and a smidgen of disbelief that this is really happening. "I relieve you, sir," he says, snapping off a crisp salute.

 

Pike just smiles up at him and returns the salute. _If only George could be here to see this._ "I am relieved," he says, sincerely meaning it in more ways than one.

 

"Thank you, sir," Kirk says, picking up on it without need for empathy of his own, radiating gratitude the likes of which Pike has never sensed. He's come a long way from the drunken, self-destructive delinquent he was before, and Pike couldn't possibly be prouder, even if Kirk had been his own son.

 

And whatever comes next, Pike feels secure in the knowledge that the _USS Enterprise_ , and the future of the Federation itself, could not be in better hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this installment! Why is it always eleven chapters? The world may never know.
> 
> It might be a few days before I start uploading my rewrite of Into Darkness. Seeing as I've eliminated interplanetary transwarp beaming, I have to figure out how to go forward from here, since Harrison can't just magically beam to Qo'noS. Might have to figure out an alternate plot and I want to make sure I'm not writing myself into a corner before I start uploading.
> 
> Also, my thanks to redford, who to date has never missed reviewing a single chapter. I look forward to hearing from you every time. And my thanks to everyone else who has read and/or reviewed and/or left kudos on my work. :)
> 
> Stay tuned!


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